( heliconia ) ; do you like when it rains?
✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿(no longer accepting)
They’re tucked quite literally into the corner of the dormitory, exchanging body heat in the top bunk that is situated (after some locomotion) against the wall and the window which overlooks the central square of campus.
Outside, students are hurrying from one building to another as dark gray clouds start looming overhead, billowing and folding together to cast a shadow on what had been a sunny early-autumn afternoon.
The shift is sudden—the air temperature dips several degrees and swirls into clean, refreshing aroma—but not unwelcome and Scott and Loki, who are glad Scott’s roommate is gone all weekend, both look toward the window when lightning cracks across the sky and thunder shakes through the room’s brick walls.
Scott smiles to himself and at Loki, but the latter shifts deeper into the nest of pillows and blankets they’ve fixed around themselves and he makes to close his eyes.
Scott is taken aback. “Do you not like lightning?”
Loki exhales shortly as another clap of thunder rumbles the dorm. “I’m not overly fond of what follows.”
Scott’s not sure what to make of that but, before he has a chance to pry, rain begins to pitter-patter against the window, obscuring the view outside as the vague outlines of students rushed for shelter among the green grass, dark sidewalks, and vibrant red and golden-leafed trees.
Scott’s smile reaches his eyes. “Do you like when it rains?”
To that, Loki looks up through dark lashes at the other just as a soft breeze twirls into the room, jostling caramel locks into Scott’s eyes. Maybe it was the visual, filtered just right with the shaded sun, and made perfect by the smell of clean air and Scott’s cologne still clinging to the linen, but the change in the weather was abruptly the last thing on his mind.
“I think I-…” His throat closes around that four letter word and Loki nearly chokes, having to cough to clear his trachea, suddenly the closest thing to abashed as Scott had likely ever seen him. “I love…” Suddenly he’s backpedaling. “I love when it rains.”
And it doesn’t take any special gift for reading tone and context, which is a gift Scott has anyway, for him to acknowledge what Loki had just said without saying.
Scott leans in and kisses Loki softly on the mouth. It’s not patronizing, or pitying, or even forgiving of the stumble he’d just witnessed. It’s tender; meaningful without being overt, and with his mouth close to Loki’s, Scott says in a soft, sincere whisper, “I love when it rains, too.”
And it doesn’t need elaboration or specification because that’s how the two of them are, especially together. All the moment needed was celebration and as the day had just turned blustery and worthy of being spent inside, the two had just the same thought of how to spend it.